“You’re five minutes late!” my father said, as I reached over to kiss him on his forehead. He was sitting in the kitchen, on the breakfast table facing the glass doors looking out to our mother’s garden. The sunlight was gently streaming into the always bright room.

“Dad, it’s fine. We have lots of time to get you into the car and to the restaurant,” I reassured him, cheerfully. “We’ll load your wheelchair in the trunk if you can walk with us to the car. Shall we get up now?”

“I can. I can. I can do that,” as he rose from his chair unsteadily and started to shuffle across the kitchen. We flanked him on each side and the three of us walked slowly out of the house and into the back seat of our car. He was clearly looking forward to this brunch.

We drove quietly to our destination. Once there, we were met by the rest of the family. They all greeted our father and we all walked into the Mayfield Bakery and Cafe in Palo Alto. It was a very pleasant Sunday morning. The servers were all gracious and accommodating.

Through brunch, my father was quite focused on what he was eating. He ate his french toast with strawberries and a side of maple glazed ham, with much gusto. He interrupted himself every so often to tell us the food was good and he was enjoying himself. We all smiled at one another. I watched him quietly. Here was my dad, a shadow of the once confident, strong, and virile man I looked up to and always looked forward to seeing at the end of the day. Nowadays, it’s more about his various medical appointments, how his bodily functions have to be in sync with the routine he has established for himself, his favorite TV reruns, or what’s on the news. Not much else.

He interrupted my reverie. “You know, I’m worried about mommy,” he said to all of us.

He frowned and shook his head. “No. I’m worried about her,” he repeated.

“Okay. We’ll tell her when she calls that you’re worried about her. She’ll be back in a week.” We all shrugged. We hear him say this from time to time, but strangely, never in front of our mother.

On the way back in the car, he fell asleep. He woke up once the car pulled up on the driveway. We settled him on his favorite chair in the living room and gave him the TV remote. He waved us away. It was time for his favorite shows.

4 Responses to Sunday Brunch

Your blog reminds me that there comes the time when the younger generation cannot help but feel responsible for the welfare of us oldies. On my 77th birthday my husband and I went out with our youngest daughter and her partner to have dinner at an Italian restaurant. We had to walk only a few steps but we had to cross a busy road. The young ones made sure that we obediently went to where the traffic lights were so that we would cross there. They gave us detailed instructions how to get to the traffic lights, meaning we had to traverse a large roundabout first. They do live indeed near a very busy corner where even at nighttime traffic can still be quite heavy. We knew the area pretty well from daytime walks. Maybe they thought at nighttime we might find it difficult to stay on the right path. Anyhow, I must say they really made sure that we wouldn’t get into trouble, because both my husband and I are not very fast walkers any more.

Dear antyuta. You have a gem for a daughter and her partner. As they say, life is a circle, in more ways than one. One way of looking at it is that although the child was taken cared of by the parent, now the child is the parent caring for his/her parent. We know our dad’s time with us will not be long. And so, we do our best to spend time with him. We try to do the things we know he enjoys, like having breakfast where he can have either french toast or pancakes. It is a small payback for all the years he and my mother raised us, really.

Your dad is such a great and loving man to his family. What he said that he was worried about your mom shows that his love is unconditional, that he would think of others first than himself. I felt sad though because just like your dad, my day is getting old as well. He always took care of the whole family even up to now but times catches up and he’s getting sick and easily tired nowadays. I wish he is physically close to me so I can take care of him too. Bless your heart and I pray for your dad’s health as we all pray for our family’s well being.

Glad you liked it. Glad it made you remember your dad. We all know in the back of our minds that their time with us is now short. Do give your dad a call if he’s far away. The fact that you remembered him is a gift in itself.